When the Dream Ends
by Procrastinator3000
Summary: John is a sick boy with a strange mind. In his dreams he's the Heir of Breath, fighting with his friends. In reality, he's just patient No. 142 on the third floor, section C. He's the only one left. Section C is just one long hallway full of empty doors now. What happened...?


Author: Wow, I haven't been on here in a long time. There were a bunch of unfinished stories on my old account that I knew were never going to get done, so I decided to abandon ship and start fresh. I'm hoping that this time it'll be different.

Well here it is, my first story on this account. I'm sure mental hospital AUs have been done countless times in the past, but I really wanted to try my hand at it. I was inspired to do so by this amazing picture of which I do not own. . /tumblr_mblraqRKZy1r6erejo1_

I plan on making more chapters after this. I want to make this like a series of one shots about each of the character's stay in the hospital. It usually takes me a while to update, but I figured it was okay to post this since it can stand as a one shot on its own for now. Anyways, wish me luck!

Oh, also, if you have any information on mental rehabilitation buildings that could be useful, please share. Feel free to critique if needed. Thank you for reading!

* * *

A young man lays in his cold, white hospital bed. It is 8:00 on a cool, April morning. Sunlight streams in through a small window on the 3rd wall of the room. The sun seems exceptionally bright this morning, and happens to be shining right in this young man's face. Just outside his window, life begins again. People wake up and go through their predictable routines. They get dressed, make themselves look decent, and start on their way to work or school or whatever prison facility they normally go to.

However, this young man seems oblivious to it all. His eyelids stay shut tight. A serine half-smile stays glued on his face, with buck teeth just poking their way out. The drugs are still flowing through his veins. Still keeping his mind shut down...

They forced them into him during the night. The young man had woken up, screaming. His eyes were open wide but unseeing. He was shrieking about a demon - a Jack Noir - about how he'd killed his dad and all his friends. How he was destroying planets and universes. How he was the cancer.

The young man just kept screaming. He tried escaping. He tried telling them he had to go save everyone - something about a Green Sun and god tiers - but they didn't listen. Instead they shoved a needle into his arm and forced his eyes to close again. Hours passed and now here we are.

After what seems like a full eternity, this young man's eyes flicker open. What is his name again?

Oh yeah, John Egbert. John gives himself a mental bonk on the noggin for forgetting the most basic of information. His arms are too heavy at the moment to do a physical one.

A mere glance around the room is enough to confirm the obvious and make John's smile fall. The dream is over now. He has to face a cruel reality once again. The time of heroics is over. Time to become the victim of a twisted mind and a harsh world.

Sleep is his only escape from the plain white walls of his cube. In his dreams he isn't just some ordinary boy. With the Sandman's que, John becomes the Hero of Breath! The protector of the universe! He has friends and love, dreams and hope!

When he's asleep he becomes more than Patient No. 142. He isn't a nobody anymore.

John lives for his dreams. They're probably the only thing keeping him from killing himself, like so many of the others had. A few years ago, John started having a series of dreams at night that connected to each other. They started off with him back at a house he never lived in, with a dad he never knew, awaiting the arrival of a new game that never existed.

It evolved. A story formed. John gained a new life.

It was his fantasy world and he loved it.

There are some nights where he doesn't dream. Those nights lead to depressing days. When John dreams, he dreams snips of the story every now and again. A bit like an update, maybe. This confuses John, but he prefers not to question it too much.

After all, the dreams are his only escape from the dreaded hospital. John's scared that if he can find reason behind them, they'll disappear.

Heaving a sigh, John stares at the panels on the ceiling. His vision spins, his head pounds. He focuses his attention on a single spot on a single panel. The urge to vomit almost overtakes him. Fuck those drugs. He hates when he has fits.

Slowly the room becomes clearer. Images stop swirling and he can see fine once again. The first steps of John's morning ritual have taken place. Now all he can do is wait for his nurse.

John watched the hours pass. The red numbers on the clock slowly climb. 8:00 turns into 9:00. 9:00 to 10:00. 10:00 to 11:00.

John begins to think they forgot about him. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if they did. It was only a matter of time until Patient No. 142 blended into the background and was left alone for the rest of his life. No one ever really went by his room. They'd never notice that they forgot something.

Maybe one day someone would wander in and find a skeleton lying on the bed. They'd see it, and ask a superior about it. Of course by then it would be years since today, and no one would know what poor child resided in room 59 on the C section of the third floor. There'd be no one to say, "That's Patient 142. We must have forgotten about him! The poor thing."

They'd just put a nice, thick, black blanket over whatever remains there were and dump him into a hole in the ground a few miles away. No one would mourn the crazy orphan's death. Hell, John doubts they'd even take the time to get him a gravestone. Maybe a nice stick would suffice. If he were lucky there might still be a dead leaf on it! And they'd leave him there with worms crawling from his empty eye sockets and maggots eating away at the mushy flesh that made up a sick, sick brain.

A shudder shakes John's body. He pulls the blanket closer and reminds himself that thoughts like that are what got him stuck in this hell hole in the first place. The orphanage couldn't handle such a strange boy, so they decided that dumping him here would be easiest thing to do. The fuckers.

There's a knock on the door that shakes him out of his inner turmoil. John looks up and listens for the unenthusiastic words that he knows by heart. "Egbert, I got you breakfast." John mouths the words as they're said.

There is a series of clicks as the door is unlocked. Dave takes a step into the room, balancing a tray of oatmeal and assorted fruits in one hand. John smiles at him and Dave gives back a faked half-smirk. "Sorry it's like, lunch time now," Dave apologizes. "But you know how busy shit can get here." As he walks over to the bed John can hear the bitter mumble. "Wouldn't have these problems if you left your room like everyone else."

Dave had become one of the more...sour workers at the hospital. He was a young kid, just in his twenties, who decided one day that he wanted to help out all the little psychos in the world. He got the knowledge, got the training, got the right mindset, and marched into the closest nut house. He shoved his application in their face and gave a lecture about how all he wanted to do was help out. At the time, everything he said was heartfelt, so of course they accepted him without a problem. At the time he really did just want to help.

At the time...everything was so different.

John remembers Dave's first day on the job. A clean shaven blonde man had poked his head in John's door, smiling the biggest grin he'd ever seen. Introductions had been made, backgrounds shared, bonds formed. From day one, John thought that Dave was just the coolest guy and completely idolized him...almost the point of obsession, actually. John's not sure if Dave ever really caught on to how unhealthy his end of the relationship was.

In the beginning, Dave would stop by John's room whenever he got the chance. They'd talk and laugh and play cards together. Dave would show John videos on his phone and even draw silly comics for him. John liked to think that he was Dave's favorite person ever.

That was a long time ago. That was all the way back when John still left his room. When everyone was still there...

For the first couple weeks, Dave was great. He connected with the patients and did his work flawlessly. There were no problems at all.

But then he found Karkat, bleeding and broken beyond repair.

John knows that Dave liked spending time with Karkat. Dave liked to tease him and piss him off, even though the other staff members yelled at him about it. John thinks it brightened Karkat's day. If anything, a little fit put some flare into an otherwise uneventful life. Dave considered Karkat to be a friend. And finding your friend bleeding out on his bedroom floor can change a person.

It was Dave's first time dealing with something like that, and it wasn't his last.

He got tired. He got stressed. He got depressed. He started to hate his job and almost everyone who was part of it. He didn't play with John anymore. Now he only brought him his meals. And the only reason he did that was because John now refuses to leave his room and he'd be fired if he didn't.

Dave's looks changed too. His hair is always messy and he has a stubble on his chin that sometimes got too out of hand. There are days where his clothes turn out to be inside-out. He isn't the man he used to be. No, not at all.

But still, John can't help but see him in a godly light. He loves Dave coming in three times every day and seeing him. Besides dreaming, it's the high point of his day.

John sits up in his bed as Dave walks over to him. Dave hands him the tray, and John takes it with a smile stretching his lips almost painfully. "Thanks, Dave," he says. "So what are you doing today? Anything fun?"

Dave glares through his signature shades. "John, every day you ask me the same fucking question and every day it's the same fucking answer. Why don't you get it? Why aren't you learning? God, why aren't you getting any better?" His fists clench at his sides.

John stares at him, the smile wavering and eyes full of confusion. "...Thanks, Dave. So what are you doing today? Anything fun?" He repeats the words with an undertone of edginess in his voice. 'Everything has to be the same. Everything has to always be the same. This routine hasn't gotten me killed yet, so it never will. You can't stray from the routine. You can't! It's bad enough he was late, but now this? God, he's going to get me killed!'

John shivers slightly but his smile never falls.

Dave's expression softens from irritation into sadness. After a little pause, he says his line in monotone. "I'm not really doing much today. Just working, again..."

John relaxes. "Oh, that's no fun. Feel free to stop in, Dave. I'm always here."

"...Yeah, I know, John..." Dave picks up last night's empty dinner tray from the bedside table and heads towards the door. "Maybe I'll see you later."

"I hope so," John tries to say with a mouth full of oatmeal.

For a second Dave looks back, observing how John eats. One piece of fruit then one spoonful of oatmeal. One piece of fruit then one spoonful of oatmeal. One piece of hard, unripe fruit and one spoonful of mushy oatmeal that has zero flavor. Over and over and over and over and over.

Dave considers staying there for a bit longer. He has an old deck of cards in his pocket that is just screaming to be played with.

But he decides against it, knowing it'd be just as bad for him as it would be for John. He regrets that he ever stopped seeing John, but it's too late to fix it now. The routine was set, and John would panic if it changed. So he leaves the room and starts walking down the empty hallway.

He really hates this part of the hospital. It gives him the creeps and brings up a bunch of old memories. Empty rooms to his left. Empty rooms to his right. All the way to the end. The only room that isn't empty is John's. He refuses to move. No matter how many times the staff tries to drag him out of the empty wing, he always holds onto the bed for dear life, screaming about how he doesn't want to go. Eventually they just gave up and let him have third floor wing C all to himself.

Dave is more than happy when he finally makes it out of awful, empty hall. Too many memories live there.

The staff has taken to calling it the cursed wing. They don't even give patients rooms there anymore after what happened. They're too scared of history repeating itself.

A doctor walks down the same hallway that Dave's now in. She passes by him and quickly asks, "He's still alive?"

Dave nods. "Yeah, Jade. He is."

Jade stops walking. She turns to him. "I'm really worried...I think we need to check up on him more just to be sure-"

"Jade, he won't tolerate that," Dave cuts in. "You know he won't...Besides, he's not gunna try anything. It's not in his goddamn, fucking schedule."

She looks at Dave, sadly. "I know this is hard for you...You adore that kid, after all...He's going to get better. You just...have to keep hoping."

"Yeah fucking right, cause that's gunna fucking help. It's only a matter of time until he goes, anyways," Dave's stomach grows cold. "Look, I gotta go. I have work I gotta do."

With that, Dave walks off, trying to keep his mind off of that poor boy who sat all alone in room 59 on the third floor, section C.

* * *

Author: There's the first chapter. Hopefully you liked it. Feel free to drop a comment! Again, thank you!


End file.
